The Shower Club
by RaisedByTVSets
Summary: The result of a challenge set by TezzX! Gregory loses his place as a secret agent and is banished to the confines of a French boarding School, where a certain strange and by no means innocent custom is set to change his life forever...
1. Out With the Old

Title: The Shower Club

Intro: What do you get when you stir in a bunch of South Pack characters, some crazy challenge with no limits and one very, very bored fourteen year old author with a serious competitive streak?

Errmmm…well….read for yourselves, I suppose! Hope you like it, TezzX as this was part of the challenge you published a while back! (PS: you don't have to bear my children. Seriously.) X3

Pairing: Christophe x Gregory

Challenge Number: #2

PS: I don't know Gregory's surname, so it's Carmichael in this, k?

Disclaimer: I own nothing save a pritt stick and a bunch of unsent postcards.

Author: _xXMamboXx_

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_It's been a long war, I'm so tired and dirty…but not dirty enough for you_

**The Ha Ha Wall, The Libertines**

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The problem with France was that it was just so…grey. Sixteen year old Gregory Carmichael mused quietly, chin in hand, as his ice blue eyes stared beyond the tiny oval window of the BA 747 jet touching down beneath him. The runway scudded along a couple of metres below, jiggling the grumpy, blank-eyed passengers to and fro like dolls, newspapers fluttering and complimentary peanut packets wafting stiffly down the aisles.

The flight had lasted exactly nine hours and forty seven minutes and the blonde felt as though each second had sapped years from his slender frame, not that he was too much to look at in the first place. English weather had paled his skin and turned his brilliant gold locks a rather dejected shade of beige, loosening its slight curl until it flopped limply somewhere between his earlobes and his shoulders. Ungodly hours at night school and one too many ten-thousand-megawatt wakeup coffees had plainly taken its toll

…or that's what he preferred to think anyway.

With a sigh far too deep for a teenager on his summer holidays, Gregory turned away from the window and bent down to buckle up his rucksack. The logo-less navy bag stared back up from between his plain white trainers; regulation kit only, as it had always been.

But not any more.

Another sigh. After all the pretence, after all the lies and self deceiving, there was still no point in trying to ignore the truth;

They'd kicked him out. After nine long years of endless drudgery and toil in MI6, what did he have to show for it? A quick sterile meeting, a slip of paper and a thank-you-bye-bye-now-piss-off from his commanding officer.

_Sorry Greg, we just don't need you anymore._

And so the waste was tossed into the garbage, the boy thought, a wry smile curling his lips as a tinny intercom told the passengers to disembark the plane. Though he had to admit it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

o0o

Breezing quickly through customs, flashing his express passport (a _genuine_ one for the first time he could remember) right and left, the British teen made his way out of the hummingly polished foyer where a polite but firm cough brought a glossy silver BMW and wiry stick of a woman, to his attention.

The woman's name was Helga (as seems to be the trend for most black-clad, butch FBI-agent-look-alikes), and how she managed to introduce herself whilst loading his standard-issue black suitcase into the boot, bundling him into the backseat and driving away all within the next thirty seconds was something he was sure he'd never work out. The machine purred its way out of Calais' international air terminal before he could say so much as a '_merci_' to his surly new mentor.

Helga had one task and one task only; stop the irritating British kid from getting himself killed, and she made this perfectly clear before the vehicle had even hit the motorway. Gregory could amuse himself as much as he liked in the back seat; that was what the installed DVD player, customized game system and iPod speakers were all for, but nothing save the direst WW3-style emergency would provoke her into actually conversing with him.

Deliberately ignoring the multitude of gadgets, Gregory slumped back in his seat and gazed out of the window again, realizing with a pang that this would be the last he would see of the outside world for a very long time. Pity it wasn't much of a view; they were in the outskirts of the city now, the metal and concrete gradually blurring into tree-lined avenues and big front gardens. Between the drizzle-damped foliage he could see the high stone arches of Victorian windows and surly iron railings; objects that reminded him all too clearly of the London he'd left behind.

Something poked him sharply in the back and Gregory shifted over to find he'd been sitting on a glossy-looking prospectus; the first hint to his actual destination that he'd received since his dismissal. The booklet was larger than average, displaying a picture of Photoshop-green grounds and silhouette of a large rambling Tudor building in the background. The grass of the grounds was mowed into perfect strips and a couple of boys his own age had been photographed talking in the background, their summer sports dress the painful white of dental floss.

Bored, the Brit flicked through the prospectus for a little longer, soaking in the glowing reports from inspectors and the smiling faces of his soon to be classmates. He could already pick out the cliques already; from the tanned, broad-shouldered figures of the athletes, dominating the sports team photos, to the boffins with their prestigious awards and the intimidating spark of intellect in their eyes.

There was a class photo of his class in the back as well, taken just before the previous summer break (or so the footnote said). The group was small; the school only had about twenty pupils per year group and just one class for all of them. The very sight of it made his lip curl in scorn.

They just looked so…normal. The tiny kid being squashed out of the side of the picture…the class geek with his flaming red hair and faraway look…the dumbed down race of jocks, looking rather lonely without their cheerleader counterparts (apparently the school was all boys…Gregory didn't know whether to be horrified or relieved by this. Girls were certainly strange creatures.) in fact, the only two who didn't fit his classification properly were standing right at the back, their faces completely impassive as though unaware the photo was being taken. The former was tall and dark-haired, with a brooding glare in his eyes and what looked like a smoldering fag end in one hand. Just in front of him was a slightly shorter boy with the wildest shock of yellow hair he had ever seen. Now he looked closer, he could almost catch the smirk on this boy's lips, the light of something purely mischievous in the way he stood with his eyes boring straight and fearless into the camera lens.

Pity there wasn't a name list, Gregory thought to himself, there was something about the two of them that interested him. They would have made excellent targets to follow in a mission, far better than any of the other mediocre classmates…

…but he wasn't supposed to think like that anymore.

A wave of anger raced through him as he realise this. Never again would he be praised for his great fieldwork, never again would he arrive in an entirely new world with minimal instructions and the simple task of survival for as long as possible. Now he was normal. Now, in a respect, he had become the everyday teenagers he was mocking. Gregory gritted his teeth furiously, supple fingers shifting his grip on the prospectus as though he wished to tear it in two.

Stupid poncy school. Stupid poncy students. Stupid poncy schoolboy life.

The only things he had left.

The voice of Helga shattered his daydream

"Hei! Boy! Ve air arrived, see? Out ze vindow."

They were there.

Slowly, steadily, Gregory took a deep breath and turned towards the window, all too aware that the sight about to greet him would be of his home for several years to come.

…

Time to see if all the evidence was true.

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_Ok, so maybe not much happened in this chapter…but I had to set the scene! It kicks off for real in the next chapter, which I will put up by the end of the week if I get some reviews! #HINT# _

_This is my very first fanfiction and I am new to this, so if anyone has any pointers please tell me I welcome all advise!_


	2. Welcome to the Shthole

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Shithole

Thanks TezzX for the review! Writing this story pretty much ad-lib at the moment but its looking like 6 chapters or so at the moment

Enjoy!

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Helga's words made Gregory's stomach turn to lead, but despite himself, the boy found himself pressing his nose to the spotless window of the BMW, squinting intently at the approaching building, determined to take in every tiny detail.

The turrets of the great Tudor building were just about visible behind a thick green hedge, which parted in the centre to form a long gravel drive. This curved round in a ragged horseshoe to an exit somewhere to their right. The building was just as it had been in the prospectus; all sandstone turrets and leaden slit windows, but something about it made it seem colder, less friendly, than the glossy photos had suggested.

On the outside, it looked like any other prestigious boys school in the European countryside…that was until you noticed the reinforced brick wall just behind the fence, complete with coils of barbed wire. Litter blew into the corners of plant beds that held a selection of colourless leaves and the once gleaming sign that bore the school's name above the main entrance was now the coppery brown of rust and accumulated mould.

The car purred to a halt just in front of the big oak doors that led into the school via a short flight of stone steps. Two deep green bushes stood either side of this like sentries, clipped to within an inch of their lives by obsessive gardeners.

"St Peter's School for Troubled Youths." Gregory stepped out of the car and looked up at the name on the elaborate arch with barely concealed disgust. "Sounds like some institute for the homeless…either that or a prison."

"Vhy you complain, eh?" Helga snapped as she checked her hair in the review mirror of the BMW "Zees eez ze only Eenglish school in zis region! You 'air lucky to go 'ear and do not forget zat! You vant French school vere you are understanding nozing, eh? Eef I 'ear any complaints about you I shall _pair_sonally sort you out. Myzelf." She snorted as the car ground to a halt. "Now get out and behef _très bon_… or else I lose my job, _comprenez-vous_?" Straightening, she seized the startled Brit's wrist and marched him over to the entrance, where a portly gentleman with a gigantic walrus moustache was waiting for them, rubbing his hands with gluttonous glee.

The moment they cam within range, the newcomer started forward like a puppet suddenly recalled to life. He grinned and sprung down the steps to meet them with a speed almost impossible for a man of about fifty who was, quite frankly, fat.

"Welcome to our campus!" the walrus-mustached man cut in over Helga's stiff greeting, wringing both her hand then Gregory's. The latter cringed and wiped his hands on the back of his pants afterwards; the man's hands were disgustingly sweaty. "I hope that you will enjoy you stay here. Please! Come inside and we shall talk further. Hurry now, I have a pot of tea for those who like it. Please bring the bags in with you, if you would be so kind."

And with that he turned, motioning the two inside the doors and into a seamlessly polished hallway, then down a few hundred metres to another door. The door was made of expensive dark wood with a tiny bronze plaque on the door that Gregory couldn't read behind the bulk of their new guide. "My office," he explained as he swept open the door and bowed them inside. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable on the sofa in front of the desk. Thank you."

The room was decorated in pretty much the same way as the hallway; extensive wood floor and walls with a green leather sofa, a deep mahogany desk and behind it a swivel chair that clashed horribly with the rest of the room because it was so modern.

The strange little man plonked himself instantly in the swivel chair, swinging casually as his clients stiffly made their way to the sofa. No sooner had they been seated then two cups of tea were set in front of them (these were ignored, though Gregory would have killed for a coffee)

"Excellent, excellent!" the fat man exclaimed to nobody in particular "So glad to see that you have arrived safely Miss Helga, and that you have brought your charming young charge with you."

_Charming young charge! _Gregory winced at the overload of sugar. True, some people sucked up to their guests, but this was going way too far. Some of his doubt must have shown on his face, for the fat man turned to him, pudgy hands clasped on the desk in front of him as though talking to a travel-worn teenager was the highlight of his week.

"Gregory Carmichael isn't it? I must say that I am _very_ pleased to meet you," the walrus blustered"My name is Mr Kochsburger and I am the deputy headmaster at St Peter's… and no jokes about the name please, I am sure I've heard them all before." He added dryly as a smirk crept across Gregory's face.

"The deputy headmaster is basically a vice principal, the headmaster, or principal is Mr Selmeg, who you are scheduled to meet with tomorrow to discuss the results of your entrance exam before you begin your classes."

"With all due respect sir," Gregory said patiently "I am from England; I know what a headmaster is."

"Of course. Quite right." The fat man's face creased into a sickly sweet smile whilst his eyes flashed with barely concealed anger. Gregory suddenly got the awful feeling that, had Helga not been in the room, he would have got a very different reaction for such an impertinent answer. The whiskered old man opened his mouth to say something, when they were interrupted with a knock on the large oak door of the office. Or some strange reason, Gregory felt himself tense with irritation at the sound, wondering how such a little sound could sound so prissy.

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr Kochsburger, "This will be your school mentor! I had him sent from class a few minutes ago. Enter, Mr Pirrip! Quickly now."

Slowly, the door creaked open and a head of perfectly coiffed blonde hair peeked around it. The hair was adorned with a fussy purple beret and the rest of the student's attire was a mess of little ties and buttons, so much so that it must have taken the kid wearing them over an hour simply to change clothes. The overall effect wasn't girly because it was coloured entirely in black, red and deep green, but it was a close call. The body beneath was skinny and of average height, the limbs almost skeletal beneath the black embroidery that adorned the sleeves. The boy took a couple of steps into the room and bowed (yes, BOWED) as he went to stand beside Kochsburger's desk.

"Gregory, this is Phillip Pirrip." Mr Kochsburger beamed, standing up and clapping the thin lad on the shoulder like they were old friends. The boy seemed to puff out at the praise, tilting his long, fine-featured face up at the deputy headmaster with a look of sickening adoration.

_Oh bloody hell._ Gregory groaned even as he forced a friendly smile across his face. _Why in flaming flambuggery did he have to get a nerd as a dorm mate! It just wasn't fair._

Better than the Canadian exchange students you had to share with on your last mission…he reminded himself sternly before shoving the memory back where it belonged in the dusty archives of his brain. Those two were _way_ too friendly for his liking…

"…your stay here." Phillip Pirrip chirped at him and Gregory realized with a jolt that he'd just been daydreaming for at least the last five minutes. Flushing guiltily, he nodded goodbye to the headmaster, grunted thanks to Phillip and followed him out of the other door in the office. This door led to a similar hallway, but this one was much plainer. The rustic wooden paneling was cobwebby in the corners and smattered with flecks of peeling polish.

"This way!" came that sugary little voice again as the shorter British boy led the way up a flight of grimy stairs shoved into the corner of the hallway. The stairs rose in a steady square spiral around the walls of the room, going up for at least four further floors.

"This is the East Tower," his irritating guide piped up unhelpfully "It's the highest part of the whole main building, built in the sixteen hundreds don't you know. Our room's right at the top, as I said before, which is quite nice really as I do so like to observe the stars on a clear night. Astrology is jolly fascinating! Don't you think so, Greg?"

_Was this kid for real?_ Gregory wondered with mild horror. Was he really going to have to share a room with some dork who went gaga over a couple of measly stars?

"It's Greg_ory_, Phillip and no, I've absolutely no interest in astrology." He said stiffly, gripping his suitcase harder and trying to resist the urge to swing it in the boy's face.

To his surprise, the little nerd's face fell, his over-helpful expression replaced with something much tougher, almost angry.

"My _name_ is _Pip_. _Not_ Philip. I told you downstairs, weren't you_ listening_? And besides you'll learn soon enough it pays to suck up to teachers round here…unless you_ want_ to get eaten alive by some of the students. No joke, this place is a crummy hellhole and if you survive until the weekend without a black eye I will be very much surprised."

Gregory was shocked! The boy's mood seemed to have changed completely, the ditzy suck up vanishing beneath a surly, hostile exterior of someone who's taken one too many beatings in a short space of time.

"Pip…" he managed to stutter "what's come over y-"

"We've reached the third floor." The other boy muttered, indicating with a jerk of his thumb. "That's means we're out of earshot from old bigwig downstairs and we can act like ourselves until the others get back from class. After that… you keep your head down if you know what's good for you."

Another flight of stairs and they reached the fourth and final floor, a small space with two doors side by side and a domed roof made from a rickety assortment of beams, nails and spiders webs. Pip walked straight to the left one and took a tiny key out from a chain around his neck.

"Room key." He explained over his shoulder to Gregory "I'd keep yours somewhere safe too, don't want anyone else trying to rob us while we're in class." A flick of the key in the lock and the door opened, Pip pushing his way in first without a backward glance.

Gregory stumbled in moments later, getting his suitcase caught on the door and stubbing his toe on the chest of drawers just inside the room. Swearing, he hobbled into the room…

The dorm wasn't that bad, he supposed; though it was nothing more than a square of bare flooring that would have taken barely three steps to walk from end to end. There were two beds parallel along the same wall as the door. These looked as though they had been salvaged from some wartime hospital with their rusty iron frames and skinny mattresses. Pip's clutter covered an entire half of the room; tatty black posters of Goth bands, piled CDs and dog-eared magazines revealing a surprisingly dark taste in music (Gregory had already had him down as some kind of classical junkie). On the side nearest the door, Gregory's bed was made tidily with a white sheet, pillow and navy blanket the exact same colour as the school's itchy blazer.

"Use your sleeping bag for that one." Pip advised as he saw Gregory looking "the blanket has bedbugs, I found that out on my first day and looked like I had acne for a week."

"Thanks for that, Pip." The taller boy replied sarcastically, trying to banish the image of a zit-infested Pip from his mind and focusing instead on unpacking his bag.

It was a dismal experience; everything he had ever owned was designed to be impersonal and functional, which meant no games or brand logos, no worn in trainers or favourite pair of jeans…all he had was three sets of school uniform, one blazer, about a week's worth of 'casual' clothes (which resembled the contents of a low-budget charity shop) a sleeping bag and a wash kit.

"'they forget your other case or something?" Pip piped up over his shoulder. "You look like you've just transferred straight out of military school or something."

Gregory smiled wryly, maybe Pip wasn't as dumb as he looked

"I have…in a way." He admitted darkly "and yep. That's the lot. Perhaps you can lend me some of your stuff-"

"Jeepers no!" Pip yelped "Kit's like currency here. You don't have it, then you're a nothing and _they'll_ make sure you know it." A tick started going in his eye, his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap like tiny white spiders.

Gregory sighed. The kid was a loon alright; his introduction the school was sounding more like the prologue to a horror film with all this 'They'll get you' crap. But he had to ask…

"Who's they?"

"Older kids. Bigger kids." Pip twitched "The worst are the ones that live opposite us; McCormick and Delorne…I wouldn't mess with them if I were you. That's why I fix so many locks on the doors, every time they get out of class…because without the padlock they-"

at that moment, the shrill scream of the school bell rang out across the room, making both boys jump.

"Class is over." Pip muttered, reaching into his blazer pocket "…Wait a sec, I've just gotta fit the lock on the door-"

Then, he froze. Blood draining from his face like water down a drain. His hand stopped its moving and hung lifelessly by his side, half out of the pocket, limp as a corpse.

"_Oh god_." He whispered, eyes wide, face laden with doom.

"What is it?" Gregory lifted an eyebrow, bored already with his hysterical roommate.

"I can't find the extra padlock, Greg! And class has just finished! Oh god, if they come up here…" Pip slithered off the bed and to his knees, scrambling about through the mess on the floor like a mad thing, searching desperately.

"Who come up here? Those idiots from across the all you keep on about? _Jesus_ Pip, calm _down_, you look like you're about to be shot!"

"o-oh worse than that! Much, _much_ worse!" Pip quivered in reply, doubling speed. A stack of CDs crashed to the floor but he didn't seem to notice and just scrabbled harder through the mess.

"It can't be that b-"

"You don't under_stand_!" the tiny blonde shrieked, overturning another pile of clothes and posters in his search. "You don't know what they're like! If they get in…if they-"

His words faded into a whimper at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh _Shit_!" Pip yelled, jumping up and down on his bed, his face a mask of pure terror. "They're coming! Oh shit! What're we gonna do, Greg? Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shi-"

-BANG-

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_uh oh! Read and review please!_


	3. Ouch

Chapter 3: Ouch

Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update…I've had exams by the bucket-load :-(

Thanks to the 5 people who alerted this and the 7 who commented! Cookies for all!

Now, on with the story, and for those who have been waiting to meet Delorne…here's your chance… :-D

Please leave a review! They really do inspire me!

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They entered in a thunderclap of war cries and splintering door frame, two striking youths the likes of which made even Gregory stop and stare

_They were the two boys from the prospectus! Not that the photo could ever match up the reality…_

The first (and shorter) had the liquid grace of a cat and eyes of purest ice, his immaculate features blazing bright beneath a fireball of saffron hair.

"McCormick…" he heard Pip murmur

But if 'McCormick' was a stunner, then his companion could be classed as nothing lower than a god.

Delorne stood a towering six foot two, even at sixteen, with sweeping locks of jet black hair and a six-o'clock shadow darkening his flawless face. Deep brows knitted over molten eyes and his wide shoulders were set in a way that whispered subtly of the chiseled body beneath.

The two tiny, skinny British blondes felt themselves freeze, Pip from terror and Gregory…well, if Gregory could stop staring at Delorne then maybe he could figure out why!

"Well if it ain't the little emo-kid!" McCormick laughed, straightening with an arrogant shrug of his shoulders. "Long time no see…and he's got a faggy friend with him! How adorable; another victim in our little punishment game. So, what'll it be today, Pippers…?"

Pip watched in terror as the new boy swaggered closer, a trail of smoke weaving its way up from a cigarette in his long-fingered grasp. Gregory wrinkled his nose at the smell. Reaching the quivering brit, the American teen smirked and raised the offending object to his lips, puffing a long thin jet of smoke into Pip's half-open mouth.

Shocked, Pip reeled away with a gasp, blushing furiously and gagging on the nauseating fumes. Unfortunately this only made McCormick grin wider. That is, until his companion put a hand on his shoulder and breathed silkily into his ear.

"Kenny, stop playing veeth zem; eet bores me. Zets just deal ze beeting and go, _d'accord_?" His dark companion, Delorne, drawled, cracking knuckles masked in fingerless biker gloves as he withdrew. The bones clicked beneath their leather shields and Pip whimpered audibly. Gregory sighed; if there truly was a fight building here, his new room mate wasn't going to be doing anything more productive than cowering in some corner.

Still, he was used to working alone…-

That was it. All it took was a flicker of defiance in his eyes for McCormick (Kenny, apparently) to be on him in a second. One hand arched in across his stomach, dealing a blow to the ribs that made him gasp aloud, the second snaked behind the first, smacking straight into his chin so that the American teen's fingernails dug deep in either side of his jaw. Gregory felt his toes life from the floor as Kenny's lean muscles bulged tight, dragging him backwards three paces to smash into the nearest wall.

Stars shot through Gregory's eyes as the two-hundred-year-old French architecture walloped him in the spine, knocking the breath from his body for the second time in as many minutes.

He couldn't help it; as the air rushed from his lungs, his lips parted in a tiny terrified squeak of surprise; this boy was far stronger than he'd ever have expected! It was impossible to see where the muscles hid on that lithe, streamlined torso.

Too bad his little squeal didn't go unnoticed.

"Oooh look at _him_! Screaming like a little _girl_!" Kenny crowed gleefully "This is a _boys_ school, sweetheart, are you sure you should be here? Hey Christophe!" That terrible, shark-like grin flickered to his friend for a moment "If he's a girl he should have a name so everyone can tell, after all; a lady must be treated right, eh?"

His sneer swoops down on Gregory again, laughing out loud as the defeated blonde shuddered in his grip. "I know what we'll call you…You're British right? Howsabout _Brit_ney, combines your heritage and your persona all in one! Well now, you can't ask better than that, can you?..." The flicker of outrage in Gregory's eyes was ample excuse for another hard encounter with the wall. "-_can you_, you worthless piece of shit? Answer me!"

Not afraid to admit he was petrified, the paralyzed British blonde watched his attacker's fist rise and let his eyes slide slowly shut.

This was it.

Oblivion.

Until the tall youth stepped in once more.

"Kenny." One word, yet it said a thousand more. This time the dark boy's hand pushed into the side of his accomplice's face, easing it to the right so that Delorne (_Christophe_, Kenny had called him…) could get a better view.

"_Hey! Whaddaya do that for?!"_

"Hmmmm" was the only reply as Gregory found his face forced up to meet Christophe's piercing gaze. Once this strange staring contest began, Gregory found himself unable to look away. All he could feel was that blinding, static charge flickering between the two of them and the odd, weightless feeling in his bones as every atom in his body strained desperately towards the contact, as though it meant more than life itself.

He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _think_; those eyes took everything away save the sole desire to keep the contact forever, to drown forever in their endless depths…

_Wait, **what**? This was a **guy** about to punch him into next week! Why was he having these thoughts **now **of all times?!_

Then Christophe spoke and the connection vanished, bringing him back to reality with all the subtlety of a bucket of water in the face.

"Hmmm...Maybe vee von't 'urt eem zees time, _je pense... _"

"But _whyyyy?_" came the whining answer, and Kenny pressed back against Christophe's palm, trying to see what was so special about their victim "He's only a shrimp, and you know being trapped inside these four walls make me itch for something more _exciting_…" that flash of evil was back in his eyes, and Gregory tried to look away, but the only other direction was into the smolderingly golden pools that were the eyes of his saviour.

"_Vhy,_ you say?" A smile spread across Christophe's lips and Gregory found himself fascinated by the way the skin moved; unfurling softly into that slim, wolfish curl…

"Yeah! And it had better be a goo-"

"Becauhse 'e ees preety, no? Vee vould not vant to spoil such a preety face…"

Shocked to the core, Gregory's eyes were dragged back to Christophe's in another blinding connection, and he could have sworn he saw something stir in the depths of the taller boy's irises, something almost…

_Flirtatious?_

"Oh not _again_!" Kenny's voice shattered the mood "How many pretty little boys are you going to add to your list of fuck buddies _this _term? You swore you'd stop after Kyle but noooo-"

"_Ferme-la_!" Christophe growled with so much anger that Kenny physically withdrew, letting Gregory slide, unharmed down the wall. Once there, the British boy melted into a tiny crumpled heap, his heart still rattling against his ribs. He didn't need to be able to speak French to tell that Christophe's command meant shut up, and fast.

_"_I told you; _nevair_ mention zat name to me again!_ Tu est stupide au delà de la conviction _!_" _Christophe bellowed and, without any warning, stalked out of the room and into the hallway, the remains of the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence.

Gregory, recovered a little by this time, saw the desperation in Kenny's eyes and felt the stirrings of amusement in his heart. Now that his friend was gone, the fiery blonde didn't seem nearly so cocky…

"W-we'll be back for you later!" Their disarmed tormenter snapped, eyes wide, before charging after his friend, leaving a cloud of dust, scattered CDs and two very shocked boys in a void of ringing silence.

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So, you like? Let me know!!

PS: Christophe and Kenny will grow nicer later in the story! Promise! So don't hate them too much just yet...especially Kenny...I love Kenny... :-)

Translations:

_D'accord? -_ OK?

_Ferme-la!_ - Shut up!

_Je pense - _I think

_Tu est stupide au delà de la conviction! - _You are stupid beyond belief ! (hehe one of my favourite French phrases to say to people who think wanting to be bilingual is a waste of time.)


	4. The Ties that Bind

Chapter 4: The Ties that Bind

_Hey, I'm back! and very happy to be so. Sorry for the lack of updates for SO long, it's NOT because I don't want to/can't be bothered to finish this but I've been really busy working on my own novel, so all my writing time has gone into that. But I finished it yesterday, so am now free to update my lagging fanfiction account! _

_I wrote all of this in one single, 1 hour sitting, so I hope its alright! Any comments/criticism/questions would be most appreciated, it really makes my day!_

_Hope you like it!_

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The school grounds shone pale as bone in the deepening twilight, their carved turrets and towers as beautiful and delicate as bone. But Gregory barely noticed them. Instead he carried on running, head down, breathing hard, on his fifth and final lap of the school grounds. It was the end of his first week at the school and, thankfully, his little evening runs were attracting less attention than before. It was necessary, the British blonde told himself, to run like this if he wanted to stay as fit as he had been in MI6, but that didn't stop all the opened windows, jeers and peering eyes from throwing his concentration.

Apparently, French boys never moved faster than a walk.

The arched entrance to the dorms loomed in front of him and Gregory let his pace beginning to slow. Gasping, he dropped his shoulders and leaned against the comforting cold stone, face flushed and with his tee-shirt stuck tight to his slender torso. Moonlight turned his blonde hair silver and reflected off the blue of his eyes. To anyone watching he would have seemed like some kind of frail angel…but nobody was watching, Gregory told himself, and shoved the dorm door open, staggering up the stairs on legs that felt (and wobbled) like jelly.

Whoever said exercise was good for you definitely didn't go on five mile jogs at nine o'clock at night!

The stairway was pitch dark, and Gregory stumbled, cursing, over every fifth step at least. Once again, he wondered what madness made him go out at night of all things, but the answer came back, as reasonable as before.

The work at this school was awful. There was just so _much_; at least four hours a night, most of which was conducted in supervised study sessions that went on well past seven o'clock, meaning that, even he ran straight from the study hall, skipped dinner and changed in thirty seconds, the earliest he could get outside would be eight.

He hadn't even joined the normal classes yet (he was still awaiting the results of his entrance exam) and already he was snowed under with math sheets and essays!

"Bloody French." Gregory muttered as he crept into the landing that he and Pip shared with Christophe and Kenny. "Bloody, bloody French." But there was no answer, there never was, and he reached the door to his rooms alone, slipping the key into the lock and entering without a single answering sound from the room beyond. The lights were low, so he automatically assumed that Pip had gone to sleep, so imagine his surprise when he found his roommate still up at his desk, surrounded by a mound of homework papers, pen-in mouth and snoozing gently, as though he had fallen asleep in the middle of his work.

An identical frown creasing his own brow, Gregory dropped his running kit on the end of his bed and approached his friend, eyeing the pile in confusion.

Pip was not the cleverest of students, but he got his good grades through hard work and organization, so late-night homework marathons were definitely not his style. What was more, he had said to Gregory that very morning that he had nothing on his homework schedule that night, so was looking forward to a free evening.

So what was he doing now…..?

One glance at the work confirmed his worst fears.

**_Explain the Significance of the Windmill in the French Classic, Lettres de mon Moulin. _**Read the title. **_Essay written by Kenny McCormick_**

Ah.

"Pip?" Gregory asked, trying to control the anger in his voice. Gently, he reached out and shook his friend awake, sympathy twisting inside him as he saw the bleary shadows under the smaller boy's eyes. He looked exhausted…and that only angered Gregory further.

"Huh?" Pip muttered, stuffing his fists into his eyes and rubbing hard "Uh…Gregory? What're you still doing up?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." Gregory said, his voice strained "But then I read that title and it all made sense." Pip paled at his words, glancing sheepishly at the essay

"I-its not t-too hard, Gregory…" he mumbled "Just four p-pages…not that much…I just got a little bit sleepy that's all."

"I'll bet you are!" Gregory growled "How long have you been at this?" Pip's head dropped right down at this question, as though he was trying to hide his answer in his scruffy school collar.

"Five hours."

"Five HOURS??" Gregory almost screamed, then quickly lowered his voice; he didn't want Kenny and Christophe to wake up, no matter how tempting the thought of beating them up felt right then. "It wasn't just this essay was it? All this is his, right?" he waved a hand at the huge pile "and you're been wasting all your spare time doing it for him? Pip, you should learn to stand up to him! He's a bully and bastard who's just using you for your brains! Don't you understand that?!"

"But…but if I don't h-he…" Pip looked up at him, a strange emotion shining in his eyes. There was fear there, certainly, but it was mixed with something that Gregory didn't understand; a sort of tenderness. "Please Greg, you don't understand what its like!"

"Yes I do. Believe me, I've seen enough people intimidates, blackmailed…"

"But I haven't even told you the half of it-!"

"Then tell me!"

"_No_!" The ferocity of the reply surprised them both. Pip looked positively terrified now, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. Silence yawned between them for a moment as both boys tried to calm themselves down, then Gregory forced himself to smile, nudging Pip gently on the shoulder.

"Alright. Its alright Pip, I understand. But you really shouldn't be doing this…" He reached over and deliberately prized the essay from his friend's hands "…this late at night. Finish it in the morning, ok? Just get some sleep for now."

"But…"

"Not a debating issue." Gregory cut across him, then smiled to himself; he sounded just like his old boss at M16! Ah well, some habits never faded. "Bed. Now."

"Gre-"

"Now!" and eventually, Pip nodded. Within minutes, both lay in their bunks, Pip's breathing slowing quickly into slumber. But Gregory's eyes remained open, despite the tiredness in his body from the run. He couldn't stop worrying about his little blonde friend, and every time he did so the hatred for the boys across the hall doubled in intensity, boiling like acid in his brain.

Even if he changed nothing else in this miserable place, Gregory vowed, he would make life better for Pip.

Nobody deserved to suffer like he did, especially not at the hands of scum like McCormick and Delorne.

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_The Next Day_

"Ah! Carmichael!" The headmaster greeting was jarringly cheerful as Gregory warily entered his office, having been summoned out of the breakfast hall 'urgently' over the school intercom. As the head motioned him into one of the squishy leather chairs in front of his desk, Gregory tried to still the tremors of anger running up his spine. Having a hundred pairs of hostile male eyes scrutinize him as he walked out of the breakfast hall was definitely not an experience that he would have enjoyed at the best of times. If this chirpy greeting was supposed to make the headmaster seem likeable, Gregory thought, then he could certainly have done a lot better…that grin looked big enough to swallow him whole.

"You wanted to see me, headmaster?" he said woodenly, refusing to relax into his seat.

"Yes! Yes of course!" The headmaster blustered, and Gregory noticed the papers clutched in his hand for the first time. It appeared to be some kind of letter, though ut had been crumpled eagerly far too many times to tell for sure. It was this paper that the headmaster waved in his face as he continued, his eyes and smile sparkling whiter-than-white

"I just wanted to let you know that the results for your entrance exam were outstanding!" he boomed "Absolutely outstanding! Highest on record in fact, and we are overjoyed to accept you as the newest pupil in our wing for 'gifted and talented' students!"

Gregory's stomach hit the floor_. Gifted and talented?_ Sounded like a breeding ground for nerds.

"Um, that's very….kind of you?"

"Not at all, my boy, not at all! Your new teacher's name is Professor Spindex, and don't you forget it! Now, if you would be so kind, Miriam, my secretary, will show you to your new classroom. Miriam!" he rapped sharply on the desk and a pale wisp of a woman, with huge spectacles and a baggy cardigan clinging to her shoulders.

"This way Master Carmichael," she said in heavily accented English. Gregory nodded and let himself be led from the room, ready to go along with anything that got him away from the creepy headmaster. The man was still looking at him like he was a piece of meat, albeit an exceptionally clever one.

Gregory sighed inwardly as the school corridors blurred around him and his frail little guide. The reason for his grades wasn't too hard to explain; MI6 had high standards and he had never had trouble in besting those. Fluent in six languages (including French) and able to translate algebraic equations as easily as a kindergartener would read a picture book, if he had got anything less than 100 in those tests then he had never been fit to be a British agent.

Still, the only place his cleverness seemed to have landed him was in trouble. Because he's had separate lessons up until that day, Gregory had managed to keep himself neutral with just about everyone in the school. He was seen as a new kid and not much else (_apart from with McCormick and Delorne. The former thought he was a punchbag like Pip and the latter…well_…a flush decorated Gregory's pale cheeks…_he would very much like to know what Delorne thought, and something inside him was praying frantically that it would be good)_

"Here we are, Master Carmichael." Miriam the secretary whispered at his side. Gregory looked up for the first time and found himself staring at a tall wooden door with a heavy brass handle in the side of it. It was this handle that Miriam was turning now, ushering through the gap without so much as a 'good bye and good luck'.

The light in the room was intolerably bright after the dingy hallway, and Gregory had to use all of his willpower not to throw up his arms and squint like some kind of sun-deprived mole. He couldn't afford to look like an idiot, not in front of a bunch of potentially hostile, and very intelligent, classmates.

That brought another smile to his face. Potentially hostile? It looked like he wasn't going to be shifting the spy-talk any time soon.

He blinked the brightness away and found himself staring at a small, low-ceilinged room filled with around twelve other boys, all of which (thankfully!) looked pretty ordinary.

The desks that they sat at were old-style Victorian and piled high with papers and text books, most of which Gregory had studied years ago and in far more complicated languages. These facts should have made Gregory feel comfortable, but when the entire class was staring at him intently, the effect is ruined pretty quickly.

"Ah, I take it you are Mr. Gregory Carmichael?" a voice at his side made him jump. He turned to find himself being stared at by a snort balding man with a bent back and a monocle hanging from one eye. As he spoke, the man offered a wrinkled palm to his new student, indicating that he should shake it.

"Um…yes?" Gregory replied, accepting the handshake "And you are Mr. Spindex?" The old man nearly wrung his knuckles off when he heard that.

"Of course!" he beamed "And you, my boy, are the first student to have pronounced it correctly since young Mr. Broflovski, and with a name like his, he could hardly get mine wrong!"

"Thank you?" Gregory said awkwardly, unsure exactly how he should be reacting to all of this. Luckily Mr. Spindex finally realized how embarrassing he was being…and reacted in the worst way possible.

"The headmaster says you are quite the wonder child, Mr. Carmichael." He said, with a hint of skepticism in his voice "Though, of course, that is a mandatory requirement for those who want to be in this class. However, with your exam results…"

"Please, professor." Gregory said quickly, mortified. He didn't want everyone to know about his results just yet. "I'd rather keep that to myself, if you don't mind."

"Of course, dear boy, of course." His new teacher agreed "Now, if you would like to take a seat, we can resume the lesson."

Nodding nervously, Gregory stared out at the class, knowing that every single eye was trained on him, and felt his stomach skink past his knees.

This day just kept getting better and better.

Most of the crowd looked a little _too _ordinary, all bespectacled and stooped, as though they had no lives outside of their books. Gregory let his eyes skip over them quickly, knowing that he would die of boredom after one lesson in their company. Instead, his gaze was drawn to a small group in the back of the room, and (more specifically) the face of the person in the centre.

This school must be a breeding ground for gods, Gregory found himself thinking foolishly, unable to stop staring at this new figure. Cascades of tight coppery curls spilled from the boy's head, forming tiny swirls just below his ears and glowing like flames against his alabaster skin. Eyes greener than emeralds locked onto his own, beckoning him forwards, and before Gregory knew what he was doing, he was collapsing into a seat beside this luminous redhead, still trying to keep his jaw from dropping open in wonder.

There should be a law against being beautiful and clever.

"Text book." Gregory blinked and realized that the boy was actually talking to him. Numbly, he accepted the book being held out to him and flipped blindly through the pages. He'd brought a notebook with him, but everybody else seemed to be going through some kind of exam paper. For a moment, he considered asking Spindex for one of his own, but decided against it. He's had more than enough attention for one day.

"AAAGH! JESUS!!" the shout nearly made him jump out of his skin! It sounded like someone was having a heart attack! Whipping round anxiously, Gregory let himself relax; it was only another student, getting stressed over his work.

But this didn't look like a normal level of stressed! The boy, who was painfully thin with a stack of canary yellow hair that looked like it had been plugged into a power line, was quivering all over, his eyes bulging as they stared at the question on his paper. Even was Gregory watched, the pencil he was holding snapped between his fingers, showering the desk with splinters and bits of lead.

"JESUS CHRIST!" The boy gave another squawk and Gregory frowned worriedly, before turning to the boy beside him (the one with the mesmerizing green eyes) "Um…is he alright?"

"Ah don't mind him." The handsome redhead said airily "That's Tweek, the resident spazz. He's lagging a little behind with the curriculum and with a temperament like his…well..." He glanced over at the skinny blonde (who was now ripping small chunks of hair from his scalp) and sighed. "I suppose I should try explain to h-"

"That would be an example of mass spectrometry analysis." Gregory said before he could stop himself, leaning over to the other blonde and pointing confidently at the page in front of him. "An instrumental method of calculating the formula mass of organic compounds. Simple enough really."

Oblivious to the stares that nearly everyone was now giving him, the Brit outlined the question, the answer and the theories of the method. His spazzy blonde pupil nodded the whole time, his bright blue eyes wide with understanding.

A lifetime of preparing missions and organizing troops had made Gregory a natural at explaining things to people in a way that suited their mindset, and all too soon Tweek was racing through the questions, eager to catch up with the class.

Only when Gregory returned to his own work, and saw the stares, did he realize his potentially fatal mistake.

Oh great, so now he wasn't only a dork, he was their fucking _prince_!

"Impressive." The redhead's voice made him flinch. He had been expecting sarcasm, so the compliment had caught him completely off guard. Turning, he found those emerald eyes trained on him once more, this time displaying more than just mild interest.

"Uh-" Gregory was lost for words, luckily his classmate didn't seem to mind. With a face like that, he was probably used to it.

"Kyle Broflovski's the name." The boy said, his voice clear and sharp, the kind that just _made_ you sit up and listen. "And this is Token, Craig and Clyde." The rest of the boys in the circle smiled too. Each one seemed to ooze confidence, but it was obvious that Kyle was the leader. "and of course you already know Tweek."

"GAH!" the yellow-haired spazz blurted the moment his name was spoken. "T-t-t-t-thanks for helping me."

"Welcome." Gregory said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "It was nothing, honestly."

"Modest to the last." Kyle's magnetic smile knocked him off his feet again "I like that." A slender palm stretched out to meet his, and Gregory found himself being given his second handshake of the day.

"Welcome to the group, Mr. Carmichael!" The Broflovski boy announced "I have a feeling you are going to do well here."

Gregory couldn't help it; within moments a massive smile had spread across his face, one that refused to fade for the rest of the lesson.

The welcome had been strange, but it was acceptance nonetheless.

Perhaps today wasn't going to be as bad after all.

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It was lunch time, and Gregory was sitting with Kyle's group, laughing over some theorem or other, when the only other brit in the school came running up to their table, his face flushed and his eyes red, as though he had been crying.

"Gregory!" Pip gasped "Greg! I really have to talk to you!"

"Gregory is busy right now." Kyle said evenly, looking the blonde boy up and down warily as though to say _not that he'd ever have time for someone as ridiculous as you._

Gregory, on the other hand, had seen the desperation in his roommate's eyes and his team-leader's instincts had kicked in with a lurch. True, the boy was annoying, but he was a comrade nonetheless, and it would be inconceivable not to help him now.

"Wait." He said to Kyle, but not taking his eyes off Pip. "I think this is important." He pushed his lunch tray aside and stood up, pushing Pip towards the door. "I'll be back in a minute." He ushered Pip out of the lunch hall and the door closed behind them, shutting them into the shadowy secrecy of the corridor outside.

"Well?" Gregory asked, a little louder than intended; Pip had started sniveling the moment they were out of sight. As the smaller blonde seemed unable to reply, Gregory took a guess, and knew from the way Pip cringed that he had been right.

"Its McCormick, isn't it?" Pip sniffed and nodded

"H-he and D-Delorne are making me do their work again tonight." He whimpered "B-but I have a whole protect to finish off…I'll be working hours…and if I don't get top grades in my project then I'll be moved down a class! Greg, I don't know what to _do_!" his words blurred into a wail but Gregory didn't have time for tantrums. Seizing the boy by the biceps, he held him at arms length and forced him to look into his face.

"Again?" he hissed, exasperated "Why do you let them do this to you, Pip? They're just ignorant school bullies, but every time they tell you to do something, you come scurrying!"

He gave Pip a shake but regretted it immediately. The boy looked as though he was about to shatter.

"McCormick's the worst, isn't he?" he demanded "I swear, if he told you to cut your own head off, you'd do it!"

"I know." Pip mumbled through his tears "I know! But McCormick is…_Kenny_ is…"

That did it. All it took was that one sentence and Gregory felt the entire puzzle slot into place.

"Pip, you…" he trailed off, barely able to believe it "Pip, you don't….you don't _like_ Kenny, do you?"

Pip sniffed, and that was a good a 'yes' as any.

"How long _for_?" Gregory felt numb now, asking questions automatically as he waited for the truth to sink in.

"Since the beginning of last year." Pipe sobbed "I thought it would go away after summer but…"

"Does Kenny know?" Pip's eyes widened in fear

"I-I jolly well hope not!"

He flinched as Gregory's grip tightened on his forearms, but there was no anger in his eyes any more. Instead his eyes were wide and determined, justice shining in their depths.

"Look, Pip, we won't do the assignment ok? If you ignore these losers then they will stop beating on us."

"Easy for you to call them losers; you don't even know what they're like…"

"Let's just say I've seen enough similar types to have a good idea." He said, eyes shining "Don't worry, we'll find a way to get back at them. I'll figure out a plan."

But unfortunately, for both Gregory and for Pip, events were already set in motion. Events that were to land everything entirely beyond their control….

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…?

Ps: I know mass spectrometry analysis isn't too hard…but it sounds impressive so I just thought I'd use it! Poor Tweek


	5. The Shower Club

Chapter 3: The shower club

Yay another chapter! Hopefully a little faster than the last one. Once again THANKS AND COOKIES for the reviewers, you guys are brilliant! And I hope you like the chapter.

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Gregory _had _meant to follow through his promise to Pip as soon as possible, but over the next week he found schoolwork and other 'gifted and talented' activities eating up all his spare time. One day it was three papers on advanced geometry, and the next a private chess tutoring session with Kyle, (a game that Gregory wasn't too keen on –nor good at- but could not bring himself to refuse Kyle over, in fact, he could barely refuse him anything).

And so a week passed, then another, then another, and though Pip's 'extra' assignments from the boys across the hall started to dwindle, a haunted look had come into the boy's eyes, like prey who expects a predator to strike at any time, but does not know where from. Time and again Gregory told him to calm down, to appear strong and hope that that alone would push the bullies away. At every confrontation it was Pip who was being picked on, with very little (save the occasional snide comment)

coming Gregory's way. It seemed that he had been forgotten and, as the days passed, Gregory began to believe that he had been struck off the 'target' list for good…

_If only._

Though he did not know it, Gregory was not only still on that list, but right at the top…

ooooooooooooooooooooo0000000000000000000000000oooooooooooooooooooo

Friday afternoon dawned as yellowed and misty as it had ever been, since Gregory had arrived at St Peter's School for Troubled Youths, forewarning nothing of the events that were set to occur. Gregory felt no fear in his heart as he scrambled from the bed to the shower (anything to beat Pip, who always took _forever_) and tugged the baggy school uniform over his slender shoulders.

Well, maybe just the tiniest twinge of fear, because today marked the introduction of a final subject to his class timetable; P.E.

Clever as he was, integrating into a completely new school (not to mention the 'gifted and talented' section…something that was already beginning to piss him off) in the middle of the year meant plenty of extra study, and headmaster Selmeg seemed to think that PE was the only expendable subject on the timetable.

However, four weeks of hard slogging had passed and every single subject was up to date, and the games literally could begin.

The rest of that day's lessons passed in a blur of equations and verb declensions (well, they _should_ have done, but Kyle had been sitting next to him for most of the lessons, and that boy was far too much of a distraction….) and all too soon Gregory found himself shrugging his kit bag over his shoulder and following the skinny straggle of classmates out across the playing fields. They headed towards a small hut at the very back of the grounds; the gym changing rooms and sporting hubbub of the entire campus.

The sports hut was, frankly, pretty pathetic compared to the turreted heights of the main school. It was small, squat and square, the outside a mess of flaked whitewash and the inside a dejected sort of beige (well, as long as you didn't look into the corners, where the legacy of a decade's cobwebs were inscribed in long, graying strands). The interior was cut into two sections, one a bustling changing room, the space already cluttered with twenty sports bags and half-dressed male bodies. The second could be reached by a small archway and contained nothing save twelve silvered showerheads and a central drain; the post-gym washroom.

As he pushed his way into the changing area, Gregory's eyes skipped over this second room in an instant, dismissing it without a thought.

And who could blame him? There was no way he could have known just how important that room was soon to become…

**oooo0oooo**

Trying not to feel too self-conscious, Gregory retreated into the cleanest corner that he could find and shrugged into his kit as fast as possible, glancing over his shoulder all the time in case someone looked his way.

It was a silly habit, he told himself, a _girlish_ habit, but he just couldn't help it. M16 had taught him to hide everything about himself as much as he could, and his body was no exception. It was nothing to be ashamed of; the running sessions around the school at night had toned away most of the pale-ness that he'd had before he arrived at St Peter's, but his training as a spy had left a few too many scars, scars that would provoke questions he _really _didn't want to answer.

His paranoia justified, Gregory straightened, and was just about to head for the door when it sprang open, drenching the boys inside with a blinding combination of sunlight and a great, booming voice.

"QUIET!!" It roared, belting off the ceiling and ricocheting from wall to wall, leaving a ringing (and somewhat stunned) silence in its wake.

Completely immune to the shock silencing those around him, Gregory calmly set aside his bag and squinted into the light, determined to see exactly who it was who was causing all this racket.

A short, thickset little man met his gaze, a man with beady black eyes, ruddy skin and a huge black moustache perched dangerously on the edge of his upper lip. The man was wearing a stained grey hoodie and sports trousers that were far too tight for him, but did not seem in the least bothered by the twenty or so boys starting resentfully at him. Instead, he addressed each one in the same blaring manner as he had done before, his voice still rising in volume (if that was even possible).

"RIGHT YOU LAZY LOT! FOR THOSE THAT DON'T KNOW, MY NAME IS MR. BEEJAY AND I AM YOUR STAND-IN PE TEACHER, GOT THAT?!" the strange, pot-bellied tyrant roared at them, his bushy black moustache wriggling like a drunken centipede.

"Afternoon, sir." Someone mumbled at the back, but everyone else was still staring incredulously, too stupefied to remember the required greeting.

More than enough ammo for another explosion from Beejay.

"I can't HEAR YOU!!!" He screeched, cupping an enormous hand to his cabbage ears. Despite the fact that he looked more than faintly ridiculous, (think toad wearing lycra and face-fur), the yelling seemed to do the trick, and the class mumbled the greeting again without too much trouble.

But, again, it just wasn't enough.

"My, we _are _sleepy today, aren't we boys?" he smirked, moustache bent nearly double over his curling lip.

Nobody answered. Nobody dared.

"Well, in that case….EVERY SINGLE ONE O' YER WILL DO THE CROSS COUNTRY COURSE BY THE END OF THIS LESSON! _WITHOUT_ FAIL! YOU HEAR ME, YOU BUNCH OF_ PANSIES_?"

He breathed hard into the silence, allowing a split second of gawking before jerking an arm towards the door and bellowing his next command.

"WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING HERE?? OUT ON THE RUNNING TRACK! **NOW**!"

With a collective groan, the class shuffled outdoors and lined up between two ancient oak trees that marked the start of the cross country course. The course itself was not the hardest in the world; mostly flat grass and weaving bends lined with woodland (Gregory already knew a lot of this because he used part of the course on his nightly runs) but still…the whole circuit must have been several kilometers long, and the average schoolboy would definitely have to push himself to complete it; particularly last thing on a Friday.

No wonder Beejay was getting so many dirty looks.

Not that he seemed to care. In fact, the little man looked completely comfortable prancing up and down in front of the motley, scowling line, waving his arms and muttering strings of death threats to be carried out on the boy that came in last.

Gregory copied the rest of the class and tuned him out after the second word. Fine, he would do this ridiculous course, but that didn't mean he had to actually _listen_ to the crap that came with it.

After what felt like a lifetime, Beejay finally shut up and blew the starting whistle. The whole class exploded forward in a rush, each one going as fast as he could, not because they were actually diligent pupils, but because they wanted to get as far away as that psycho Beejay as possible.

Gregory was a little less enthusiastic to start; the PE teacher didn't scare him one bit and besides, a slow jog would clear his head. He'd be overtaking over half the class within the next half a mile anyway; a start like theirs was sure to burn you out in minutes.

Settling quickly into a rhythm, the British blonde dropped his eyes to his feet and set off down the path…

**ooo0ooo**

Despite being scornful of the boy's fast starts, Gregory didn't catch up with the class as easily as he'd expected. Minutes went by and he found himself jogging almost on his own, paced perfectly in the huge gap between the fat kids at the rear and the jocks jostling at the front.

It wasn't a bad place to be; it was nice and quiet in the middle with no one else around to bother him… but he didn't want to be labeled with the fat kids by arriving late and, since it was his first PE lesson, he might as well gain some respect by speeding up a little; the jocks couldn't be _that _far ahead…

Smiling, Gregory lowered his head and adjusted his pace…

…just as a pair of strong hands shot out and grabbed him from behind.

"AAAGH WHATTHEHELL??" The former spy jittered, terrified, but already it was too late. The pathway and the other runners were yanked quickly out of sight as the hand tightened and pulled, dragging him face-first into the hedges that lined the track.

Bushes closed over his head for a moment, and the world was lost in leaves. Gregory swore and thrashed as he was tugged along, twisting against the grip until his feet found the ground again and his head finally broke the surface of the greenery, giving him a clear view of the person ahead.

An all too familiar person.

His stomach backflipped, lips moving faster than his brain.

"_Christophe_!" he yelped like a startled teenage girl, flushed scarlet, then desperately tried to cover up for his mistake. "- I-I mean…_Delorne_! What are y-" But his kidnapper had no time for talk.

"No questions. This way."

"But! Wait! Where are you taki-"

"Short cut. A _detour_." It wasn't a French word, but his accent liquefied it into molten gold, the vowels making Gregory's knees shake. His feet faltered, but Christophe's grip on his wrist never wavered, drawing him further into the woods, away from the others, and away from what remained of his sanity.

The path kept snatching his attention away from his guide. Christophe might have called it a detour with pride, but that did not mean that it was easy to run on. Far from it. The flat grass was now a mess of weeds and bushes, and the thick trees above meant that the ground was riddled with roots, making sure that every step made him dance a little to the left or the right, hopping like some ungainly pixie.

One jump made Christophe lose his balance slightly, his grip on Gregory's arm tightening in a way that made the smaller boy's chest twinge. Glancing up, the brit saw his guide moving gracefully between the tree-trunks, his longish dark hair tousled over his broad brown shoulders. His sports shirt was cut loosely, but not loosely enough to disguise the body beneath…

Gregory smiled…

And a root caught his ankle.

"Aaagh! Shit!" Gregory swore, stumbled and staggered onwards, face a brilliant scarlet. God he was such a fucking sentimental fag! Why the hell was he suddenly looking at boys in this way?

Was it because this was the first time (apart from that brief stint in that shithole South Park when he was, what, Nine? Eight?) that he had actually been in a conventional school with normal people?

As though reading his mind, Christophe chose that moment to look back at Gregory, his hazelnut eyes and wolf-smile making the shorter boy's face burn.

The contact was over in seconds, the lightening spark lasting no more than a heartbeat, but for ages afterwards the Brit found his eyes lingering on his unexpected leader, his brain feeling about as sharp and clever as maple syrup.

No, Gregory told himself, this was not a conventional school…

…_and Christophe was anything but normal._

Deciding to give up before he sunk too far into madness, Gregory sighed and looked past his mysterious guide, seeing for the first time that the trees were starting to thin.

No sooner had he thought this then the track veered right onto another, wider, pathway, with springy grass underfoot and far less tree roots.

"_Et voila_." Christophe murmured, he trademark grin smooth across his features. They were back on the original track, way ahead of the others and with time to spare.

The grip on the blonde's wrist withdrew as quickly as it had appeared, and the two boys eased apart, settling into their individual strides, close but no longer _that_ close…

And there, at last, Gregory found his tongue.

"I still don't understand why you did that." The boy muttered down at his trainers, resisting the temptation to touch the wrist where Christophe had been holding him moments before. "Especially when all the others had to go the long way round."

"Vell, maybe you air not like all ze ozzarz, _n'est-ce pas_?" Christophe replied, in something so like a purr that Gregory felt his skin tingle worryingly. It felt almost like a fever, some kind of illness that ate away his sensible inner self and left a quivering wreck in its place. Something so weak that it wanted only to throw itself at the nearest person, begging for support,

…the nearest person being a certain dark-eyed French boy.

Gregory's heart turned over.

His footsteps faltered, slowed, and suddenly Christophe was there beside him, his shoulder turned just at the right angle to lean on, his waist just the perfect distance to reach out and hold….

Another step and he…and he could….

_Oh god_.

"DELORNE! THAT YOU?" The roaring tones of Mr. Beejay shattered the moment and sent Gregory rocketing out of his jelly-kneed daze. Gasping, the blonde stumbled back into a jog, trying to look at least semi-interested in the run and not the boy beside him.

Beejay was leaning against a tree, about a yard behind the line marking the finish, his trousers as tight as ever, but this time speckled with crumbs; relics of a little snack he'd had whilst his students sweated it out in the heat. A curl of resentment prevented Gregory from returning the teacher's welcoming smile (they'd finished well in the lead) and Christophe's shoulder stiffened awkwardly as Beejay clapped a congratulatory hand across his back.

"EXCELLENT!" he roared "BLOOMING EXCELLENT! We'll have the two of you trying out for the track team before you know it!"

"Maybe, Mr…maybe…" the two of them waved him off, feigning exhaustion, and wandered a little way away, just in time to see the rest of the class stagger into view. All too soon the clearing was filled with the sound of panting boys, muffled groans and exclamations over what a bastard this PE stand-in really was.

In all the commotion, nobody had time to raise their heads, to peer over the crowd or notice the two boys still standing a little separate from the rest, watching each other, hand brushing close at their sides.

They smile at each other, the shivering seconds seeming to last forever, so when the taller boy finally shrugs and steps backwards, the smaller boy flinches visibly, as though suddenly jolted from the world lying behind the taller's honeyed eyes.

The moment is over, the nearby changing room beckoning them back to the real world. But not without one last skipping heartbeat, one last almost-touch, as the French native's lips curl and he leans in to whisper in his friend's ear, tanned face alight with mischief.

"À_ toute _à_ l'heure, mon cheri_." Christophe murmured, warm breath ghosting over his ear and down the back of his neck.

And then he was gone, his tall shape nothing more than a retreating blur, arrowing over the pitch to the changing rooms with the grace of someone born to run.

For a moment, Gregory could do nothing more but stand and stare, as bewildered and disarmed as a baby without a pram.

He was too dizzy to translate all of what Christophe had just said. But something told him 'cheri' was definitely not something you said to an enemy.

He…he…

…he had just been standing here for five minutes, for all the world to see…and looking like a complete muppet.

Ears reddening sheepishly, Gregory hurriedly pulled himself together and jogged after Christophe, trying to ignore the hurricane whirling between his temples.

It had certainly been an eventful lesson.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0oooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Gregory was the last one to reach the door to the little changing shack, but that suited him just fine. Everyone would be too busy to notice him, so maybe then he could have a shower in peace.

He peeled off his shirt but decided to leave on his shorts; he hadn't run that hard; a quick rinse should be enough. Rubbing an itch on the base of his neck, the boy rolled his shoulders tiredly and headed over to the shower room, instantly engulfed by clouds of thick white steam.

There was some sort of confrontation going on the opposite side of the door; a high pitched little falsetto-voice, its tone shrill and panicked beside the low, menacing words of its oppressor.

Sighing, Gregory turned towards the shower nozzles. Sounded like the classic pick-on-the-pipsqueak scenario; best not get involved…

But that thought vanished when the 'oppressor' spoke again moments later, the accent suddenly, horribly familiar.

"Time for your appointment, _ma petite_." That voice…soft and silk and dangerous as sin…

…It wasn't Christophe. It couldn't be…. No when, barely five minutes ago, he had been so…so…

But there could be no denying it.

Skin crawling, Gregory turned off the shower, and turned around….

McCormick and Delorne, bullying duo and menace of St Peters, stood side by side, framed by a ring of jeering, shirtless boys. Each one was squirming over the other, trying to get a better view at something cowering in the corner, something that uttered a shrill little squeak at intervals, each one growing steadily weaker.

A shiver of rage ran through Gregory as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his hands closing quickly into fists.

Typical.

He didn't even _need _to glance over to see who the victim was, but he did anyway, and his stomach did that familiar turn, a mix of something between exasperation and dread.

He should have known.

"K-K-Kenny…" Pip whimpered, cowering against the wall "p-p-please d-d-don't hurt me….I'll do anything…"

"But that's just it, Pippers." Kenny smiled, his voice spine-chillingly nonchalant "You've already done just about everything we can think of to avoid this. Our poor little minds can imagine no more. So it's the final solution or nothing, right? And I wouldn't be so unfair as to let you off scot free…."

His hand rose, Pip whimpered…

And then it all went horribly wrong.

He was supposed to have punched him then. That was what Gregory had told himself over and over again. It was the logical move in the situation. A fist in the eye, or the gut, hell, even the _groin _if they were really going to fight dirty…but not this.

Anything but this.

Kenny's fist fell, that much was familiar…but instead of beating the smaller boy bloody, the hand lingered, cupping his jaw…teasing at an earlobe…twisting around a strand of curled blonde hair….Pip gave another yelp but the hands didn't stop. Kenny's body blocked most of what they were doing, but the brit's shrill cries were telling him all he needed to know.

The former agent's eyes dropped down and away awkwardly, wanting to spare his roommate from at least a small percentage of shame at going through this torture.

The other boys, however, did no such thing. If anything, the crowd seethed closer, smiling whispers flitting mockingly between mouths, half-excited, half-scornful, like witnesses to some playground prank.

What, they were _enjoying_ watching?? What kind of sick school _was_ this?

"S-s-st-stop!" Pip gasped "_Kenny!_"

Gregory's eyes widened, memories slotting suddenly into place.

_Was this what Pip had meant when he said Gregory had no idea what Delorne and McCormick were like? Was this why he had been so desperate? So afraid?_

Had the obedient act really been, as he'd assumed, just a way to avoid a few punches?

Or to avoid the violation of something far, far more personal than that?

Pip gave another quavering whimper, his trembling fists barely visible behind the curves of Kenny's slender torso.

And Gregory could stand it no longer.

His limbs exploded beneath him, catapulting him through the crowd and into the arena of watching faces, words like missiles on his lips.

"_HEY! Leave him alo-"_

But that was as far as he got.

One minute, it had been Gregory reaching out to stop him, the next saw a pair of strong tanned hands shooting out from nowhere, lifting him high and slamming him into the slick wall of the showers.

Kenny smiled, eyes dancing, and Gregory's stomach dropped past his knees.

All too late he realized the truth.

Pip hadn't been the intended target.

No.

It had been him. Gregory Carmichael.

The whole thing had been a charade, bait, waiting for him to stick up for his friend and make himself known, to give Kenny a reason for having his wicked way.

_And he had fallen right for it._

Moisture, fast-cooled and clammy, sucked up against Gregory's shoulders and spine, causing him to shiver involuntarily. But despite the fact that he was currently pinned by the throat, helpless, and with his toes barely able to reach the ground, the Brit had courage in his heart, and the trembling in his voice came not from fear, but from burning, boiling anger.

"_Just you try and hurt me, you piece of sh-"_

"Oo_oooo_, he's got _quite _the voice, this one!" Kenny laughed, green eyes flashing as they stared straight into Gregory's wide blue ones, a smirk of pure amusement curling his full lips. Gregory's body slumped visibly when that radiant green was finally turned from him, though that was only because Kenny was calling over to his dark haired accomplice.

"Hey Christophe! Brit-boy here actually thinks we're going to _hurt_ him!"

"Well, you seemed very keen on that last time," Gregory growled as ferociously as he could considering he had someone else's thumb embedded in his larynx.

"But we only want to make you feel good…" Kenny murmured, his free hand drawing circles on his chest. Lithe fingers flexed over his flesh for a moment, before another leer sent them wandering down…and down… until Gregory gasped and wrenched his body sideways out of range, eyes wide with horror.

"Fuck off you fucking pervert!" Kenny only shrugged carelessly, eyes dancing

"Well, I've been called worse…" With a sudden flick of his fingers his hands replaced Gregory's, seizing the smaller blonde's wrists like a vice. Alarmed, Gregory struggled but couldn't get free, his eyes flying still wider as Kenny pulled his arms above his head, scooting their bodies together and disabling any chance he had of fighting back with fists. These methods of overpowering people were the kind of thing MI6 agents knew! Not normal school kids! Of course he'd been trained for this but he had been tired and his guard down…

As Kenny's breath fluttered across his face, mingling with his own, Gregory shuddered and forced his wide eyes closed.

No doubt he was about to pay for the mistake!

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_!!Wheeeee!! Next chapter done!_

_AND (before anyone asks) Does this fic say 'angst' under ratings? Is it an M? Nope so there will be NO RAPING in this story, regardless of Greg's current situation!!_

_Now, this story was also put down as Gregory x Christophe_

_But now that I'm writing it, other pairings keep niggling in my mind….so I decided to ask you lot!_

_Gregory will remain the star, because he rocks, but which one shall I go for as a love interest?_

_Gregory x Christophe_

_Gregory x Kenny_

_Gregory x Kyle_

_Gregory x Pip_

_Gregory x Spindex_

…_Ok, so the last one was a joke…but seriously! Whichever one you want! I can think of stories that will tie up with all of the ones above (apart from the last…¬¬') _

_Just leave it in a review, and I'll consider every suggestion I get!_

_C'mon, click the pretty button…..'kay?_


	6. Refusal

Title: The Shower Club

**Chapter 4: Refusal**

A/N: HEY PEOPLE I'M NOT DEAD.

It's been over a year, but what the heck? This fic is back, for now.

Oh and Gregory x Christophe won for those interested! But, as I did get a few PMs asking for Gregory x Kenny there will be a bit of that too. Hope that pleases everyone!

_Why this has taken so freaking long to update (you don't have to read this. Seriously):_

Basically, I thought this fic was dead. I now have another account on this site and write for a different literary universe (not telling you which one though! ). Cutting a long story short, I got some criticism for this fic ages back and, whilst I appreciated it and didn't find it abusive at all, it completely killed off all my creativity and I stopped writing. Today though, in a fit of utter boredom, I logged onto this account and found I had 25 reviews and 15 alerts on this fic. Fifteen. I was irritating fifteen different people by not updating. For over a year. Not good.

So I dug this out of some Microsoft word file in the back of beyond, and it turns out I've written quite a lot of it already. So I'm going to connect bits up and give the rest of it to you. It's by no means my best work, but at least it stops the guilt!

…and NO LAKING91 this chapter does NOT have anything to do with dropping the soap! Haha that made me laugh so much!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!" The voice of Sports master Beejay rang out across the changing rooms, freezing every pupil in his tracks. "I HEARD A COMMOTION!" The crowd of watchers slunk away like an ebbing tide, and Kenny dropped Gregory's wrists as though they'd burned him, turning to the red-faced teacher and flashing him his most charming smile.

"Nothing, sir." The words were so sweet that Gregory shivered in disgust. "A small initiation ceremony for Carmichael here, since he's got a place on the track team."

"Oh. Well um…ah…" Beejay floundered for a second, his piggy eyes bulging as he flicked from one boy to the next. Pip was nodding violently, his big blue eyes bright with tears, Gregory's face was as hard as concrete and flushed brighter than an English letterbox. Christophe, by contrast, was regarding the whole thing with an expression of mild amusement, his deep brown eyes giving none of this thoughts away. "Good. Ah…initiation ceremonies and all that…boys bonding, yes…well…" he turned, still bumbling, and headed back out the changing rooms.

This time Gregory was ready. Grabbing the offending hand, he adjusted his fingers so that Kenny's pinkie pointed at an angle it really shouldn't be pointed in.

"Don't you bloody _dare_." He applied pressure, just enough to make the blonde squirm.

"_Fine_!" Kenny squeaked, and Gregory let him go.

"Come on Pip." He turned, helping his fellow brit to his feet. "We're done here." Pip, still nodding frantically, let himself be led to the opposite end of the changing rooms, the other boys parting to let them through. Over his shoulder, Gregory saw Kenny whisper something to Christophe, massaging his finger and scowling. Neither of them tried to follow them though, and that was enough for the moment. Gregory left the changing rooms with a spring in his step, confident that, for a while at least, he and Pip would be free of the McCormick and Delorne threat.

Boy was he wrong.

Two days went by with no signs of trouble. Gregory spent most of his days with Kyle and his group, but always came back to the dorms early to talk to Pip, who rarely socialized with anything else during the day, other than his MP3 player. The novelty of him as the 'new British genius' wore off a little, which was a relief as it stopped all the staring, but also difficult as Kyle had now replaced his witty compliments with even wittier comments on world politics, which required much more work to follow.

On the evening of the third day, Gregory went for another run across the grounds. The trail felt easier now that he knew where he was going, so he decided to spice it up a little and take a jog through some of the older buildings of the school. Up ahead, a long arched tunnel lead into one of the main courtyards of the science block. It was about twenty metres long and unlit but Gregory headed for it without a thought. He had nothing to be afraid of.

Mistake number one.

He's barely gone five metres into the tunnel when a brawny arm snaked out of the dark, catching him around the neck and shoving him into the musty brick wall. Gregory had just about enough time to blink before a fist lodged beneath his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. Seeing stars, he lifted his head to see the face of his attacker and felt his heart sink.

Christophe Delorne.

"For Kenny." Came the accented hiss, furious hot breath fanning across his ear. _"Tu as gêné mon ami. Je dois vous tuer_."

"I didn't embarrass him!" Gregory hissed, fighting to breathe. "Think about it! He brought it upon himself, now if you would let me g- _mmph_!" Christophe had dropped his threatening stance, the hands pinning Gregory sweeping behind his back, crushing him against a warm smoky-smelling chest.

"_Je ne peut pas le faire_." Christophe whispered into his hair. "_Vous l'avez rendu impossible. _"

Gregory froze, understanding every word but hardly daring to believe it. A moment ago Christophe had said he should kill him to avenge Kenny, but now…but now he…

"Um…Christophe?" Gregory ventured carefully after a pause, trying to conceal just how hard his heart was beating for being so close to the other boy. "Er…I'm glad you've changed your mind but…um…you can let go now."

"'ow do ve say zees in France?" Christophe mused with a smile on his lips as his arms cradled the smaller boy even tighter against him. "_Non_."

"But-" The French youth's warm grasp shifted again, sending warm little shivers up and down his spine. Gregory's breath caught in his throat as two soft gloved fingers tilted his chin up until he was staring up into Christophe's deliciously brown eyes. Their gaze was so intoxicating, so powerful that the Brit felt himself gently uncurl, letting that gaze sink into the depths of his soul. With a sigh he felt his limbs grow heavy, his weight shifting entirely into the safety of those arms.

Oh what it would be like to see those eyes close, for those smirking lips to ease open as they pressed hard onto his own. What would it taste like to touch his mouth to Christophe's? What would it feel like to reach up and run his hands through those thick brown locks that swept over his eyes so seductively?

The dark head tilted to the side, slowly at first, gently, before leaning in bit by bit to close the gap between them. Such a tiny gap now…if Gregory leant forward just the tiniest bit…just turned his head ever so slightly…

The world had shrunk in Gregory's mind, reality blurring into a tiny realm of warm tanned flesh and darkly burning eyes, to the smell of skin and the gentle mingling of their breaths, perfectly in sync as their lips inched just a little closer…

This was…beautiful.

But reality just had to catch up with him.

"Y-you really shouldn't," his mouth blurted out before his brain could silence it "I-I'm not like that, I…" and the smirking face withdrew. The hands around him slowly inched away, from his back to his shoulders, from his shoulders to the sides of their owner. Christophe looked at him again, but this time there was no disarming flame, no fiery lust in those deep dark eyes that had made his knees shake just moments ago. Instead, a deadening shutter seemed to have closed behind that flawless face transfiguring the boy who had won his heart back into the faceless monster that had bullied him countless times before.

"You szink you are too good for me, eh? Zen get lost, breetish beetch."

Something shattered deep inside Gregory's chest

"I-! I mean-! Christophe, wait-"

"I said. Get lost, breetney, beefore I make you regret ze day zat you vere born."

He meant it. His eyes stinging, Gregory turned on his tail, and fled as fast as his limbs could carry him.

What had he done?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Oh no, whatever will he do now? Hehe it's so funny re-reading the stuff I'd written so long ago. For anyone who's mildly interested I only connected a few bits here, and I'm going to try and leave as much of the original fic exactly the same as I wrote it when I was fifteen, as you guys obviously don't mind the style and all that…_

_Why am I waffling? Hope you like it! Please review!_

_French Translation (I know it's terrible and incorrect and everything!):_

"_Tu as gêné mon ami. __Je dois vous tuer_." – You embarrassed my friend. I should kill you.

"_Je ne peut pas le faire_." – I can't do it.

_« __Vous l'avez rendu impossible_… » - You've made it impossible.


	7. Oh

Chapter 7: Oh

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Every day Gregory would get up, shower and escape before Pip had time to even roll over and groan at him. Next he would pelt down from the dorms to the school library and taking out the biggest volumes he could find. The books were an essential part of the plan; not only something prefect to hide behind, or hug when you wanted to give off back-the-hell-away vibes, but, if push came to shove, a way to whack anyone who approached you from here to next week.

No prizes for guessing who.

His grades went up (wherever that was actually possible) and the amount he spoke went down. Between classes he hung around with Kyle, not because they had any special sort of friendship, but because, (as Kyle had a dictionary's worth of words to say. About _everything_.) he didn't need to worry about not talking.

But, of course, he couldn't hide forever.

Kenny found him the following Wednesday, in the canteen, sharing lunch with the famous redhead and his group of nerds. Gregory had been peering into his plate like it was some kind of oracle, and jumped like a live wire when Kenny tapped him on the shoulder, telling him they needed to talk.

Alone.

Token, the beefiest of Kyle's group, half-rose and gave McCormick a warning glare, but Gregory shushed him. If Kenny wanted to talk, then there was nothing he could do about it.

He was already tired of hiding.

Kenny didn't say anything, just waited patiently until Gregory'd grabbed his kit, then turned and led him out into one of the school's smaller courtyards.

It was hot that day, and both boys wore the thinnest white shirts that school uniform would allow. As they walked, Gregory watched the lean lines of Kenny's back, the muscles underneath warm golden skin. They were attractive, in a beach-boy sort of way, but they only made him miss skin of a rougher texture, skin that smelt of tobacco, not white linen.

ooo0ooo

"So you like Christophe, eh?" Kenny didn't waste time with pleasantries. The moment they reached the band of shade at the edge of the courtyard he fired the question over his shoulder, half-turned so that Gregory couldn't read his face.

"W-what makes you think that?!" Gregory blurted, his face on fire.

"Aw, c'mon, Britney," Kenny was glaring at him properly this time "You know better than to fuck with me by now."

"On the contrary, I thought fucking around with people was one of your main hobbies." Gregory's words were light, joking, but he rocked his weight backwards all the same, ready to run. He wasn't completely sure why Kenny had called him here, or how much he knew, so he needed to tread as carefully as possible. But when Kenny's scowl vanished to be replaced by a dazzling grin, even he was thrown off his guard.

"Heh, you're funny, I'll give you that." Kenny said, his voice starting light and conversational but dropping almost immediately to a deadly serious tone "But listen. Chris has been my best mate since our first year in this shithole, I know him inside and out _and_ I know he has the hots for you just as much as you have for him. Even if you did nearly fuck up the whole thing yesterday-"

"He _does?_!" Gregory clamped his mouth shut as the almost girlish squeak escaped him. Biting down hard on his tongue, the boy struggled in vain to keep his face neutral whilst his heart did joyful back flips somewhere in the back of his throat. Christophe_ liked_ him? _Christophe Delorne genuinely GENUINELY liked_ _HIM_!!

His outburst in the tunnel, which seemed so random at the time, had made perfect sense the moment he'd escaped (and his heart rate had dropped below 1000bpm!). There were too many flaws in…in whatever he had with Christophe. The boy's reputation (not to mention the fact that he _was_ a boy), his ability to change personality in seconds, the presence of Kenny, always too close for comfort…

_What if Christophe was only playing with him?_ The doubt was always there, like the first sparks of a fire before the flames take hold. What if he had just been stringing him along, just to set him up for another round of teasing the next day?

He could hear the voices already.

"_Oooh look at Britney now, nerdy, posh AND gay, whatever next?"_

But now, standing in the courtyard, with Kenny grinning at him, all the doubts fell away like water, sizzling into nothing beneath the sun.

"N-no. I-I-I mean, t-tha-at's ridiculous, I-" His arms tightened around his latest library book. How could he be persuaded this easily? He was a former MI6 Agent! He could manipulate entire global corporations with a single smile! Why could two schoolboys toy with him so easily?

"It's alright, Brit-boy, seriously," Kenny raised an eyebrow, a quirk of amusement wavering in the corner of his mouth. "All I came to ask you was…well…take care of him alright? It's about time somebody got what they wanted in this world and, believe me, with Chris it's _long_ overdue. I hear he's going to tell you everything Friday night after the football game, and you'd better say yes or you'll have me to deal with, got that?"

Gregory's mouth spluttered open and shut, words he knew he should be saying tumbling over and over on his tongue. Kenny's eyes softened and, suddenly, without warning, he reached out and pulled Gregory into a bone crushing hug, burying his face into Gregory's shoulder before murmuring his farewell.

"You're a good kid. I…I hope it all works out for you two." With that, he pressed his lips to Gregory's cheek and stepped back, not missing the opportunity to run a hand affectionately through the other blonde's curly locks. With a last, sparklingly devious smile he turned to go, shoulders swaying in his usual arrogant swagger.

"See you 'round, Britney."

Gregory laughed and waved clumsily at the boy's retreating back.

"See you… Kenny."

o0o

Gregory waited a few more minutes before heading inside, guessing instinctively that Kenny wouldn't want to be associated with him any more if it could be helped. The boy kept his eyes on his shoes as he walked, trying to conceal the secret smile spreading across his face.

Christophe.

The Match.

Friday.

_Saying yes…_

...He could hardly _wait_!

o0o

Nobody heard the muffled gasp when another pair of eyes spied Kenny and Gregory's little _liaison_.

Nobody saw the flash of surprise in those eyes as Kenny pulled Gregory into a hug, and nobody watched that surprise turn to shock, to hurt and then dark, smoldering hatred.

The third blonde head peeked around the corner then ducked out of sight once more.

"Traitor." Phillip Pirrip muttered venomously as he turned away, revenge churning over and over beneath his ridiculous purple cap.

After everything he'd done to help the bastard, the new British arsehole was trying to take Kenny away from him?

_His _Kenny?!

_'Watch out Gregory Carmichael' _he thought with as much malice as he could muster '_cos there's going to be hell to pay'_

oooooooooo0ooooooooo

_I WILL EXPLAIN ABOUT GREGORY AND KENNY LATER I PROMISE!!!_

_(so no flames for the random slightly-masochist!Pip everybody, kthx)_

_So, I got another 4 reviews for this - loverly ones, thanks guys! So I fished another chapter out. Okay, so it's shorter, but I am in the middle of the most important set of exams of my LIFE…and…yes. At least I wrote something…?_

_So what do you think? What do you want to happen next? Tell me and I'll make it happen *grins*_

_._

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_*click*?_


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